


if her soul should leak

by shamyesapsoorap



Series: Bellarke Fic Week [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Modern AU, first date au, hella short, punk!clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 10:06:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3377501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamyesapsoorap/pseuds/shamyesapsoorap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke picks Bellamy up on their first date, and he is bamboozled by his good luck, because wow, Clarke is gorgeous.  And Bellamy is...just Bellamy.</p><p>(Clearly he hasn't looked in a mirror lately.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	if her soul should leak

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from markus zusak's incredible work "underdogs"
> 
> song excerpts from midnight oil's "the dead heart" (great song and great band and you should really listen to them)
> 
> characters are, obviously, not my own

Bellamy gave up.  
  
"Don't you dare," he muttered, grimacing at Octavia's amused expression.  
  
"What?" she asked innocently.  
  
It was all her fault, anyway.  Bellamy'd put gel in his hair, and he'd thought it looked good – but Octavia had dragged his ass back to the bathroom and made him wash it out.  "No brother of mine goes on a first date looking like that," she'd said grimly.  
  
So there he was, his hair looking like a rat's nest despite his last-minute attempts to tame it.  Clarke could pull off the "I stood in front of a jet engine and I liked it" hair look, but Bellamy?  Not so much, judging by Octavia's stifled grin.  But he couldn't spend any more time fixing his hair or he'd be late.  
  
"Where are you guys going, anyway?" Octavia asked, holding the door open for him with an exaggerated bow and a "Ladies first."  
  
Bellamy stepped onto the porch and felt a familiar heat creeping into his cheeks as he saw Clarke's beat-up black Lexus already in the driveway.  She was sitting in the driver's seat, watching him as he dithered on the steps.  "Uh, I'm not sure where we're going," he mumbled at Octavia.  "It's a surprise."  
  
Octavia rolled her eyes and slammed the door, but not before slipping in a "Turn off them heart eyes, Prince Charming, you're liable to blind someone," at an uncomfortably high volume.  
  
Bellamy glanced nervously at the car, but Clarke didn't seem to have heard – or if she had, she wasn't bothered.  
  
"Hi," he said breathlessly, slipping into the passenger seat.  "Do you want to tell me where we're going yet?"  
  
She cocked one perfect eyebrow at him.  "Nah."  Then she cranked up whatever punk rock nonsense she had in her CD player (who was he kidding, Bellamy knew all her favorite songs by heart and this one was "The Dead Heart" by Midnight Oil).  
  
"We don't serve your country, don't serve your king," Clarke bellowed, window down, as she peeled onto the highway.  "Know your custom, don't speak your tongue."  
  
(Bellamy thought it was a bit rich that she'd be singing a song written from the point of view of the Australian Aborigines, but he kept his mouth shut.)  
  
She'd asked him out a week ago and he'd nearly died of shock, but that's Clarke for you: she would take the initiative in any situation.  "You want to go out sometime?" she'd asked, blunt and unembarrassed.  _Take the initiative?  More like steal it, at knifepoint_ , Bellamy thought.  
  
He had blushed so much he thought he'd never recover and mumbled out something foolish-sounding like, "Mumbaglugamumblum."  
  
"Excellent," Clarke had proclaimed.  "I'll pick you up next Saturday at noon.  Don't ask where we're going.  It's a surprise."  
  
 _Don't ask where we're going_.  Like Bellamy could have said a single coherent word, never mind stringing together a whole question.  Please.  
  
And now the car was slowing down, and Clarke was coming to a stop in front of a giant old building with sandstone pillars and more steps than the Lincoln Memorial, and Bellamy's heart was in his throat because _how did she know what his favorite place in the world is?_  
  
"I hope you like museums," Clarke said, turning to him, her eyes gleaming.  
  
"Oh, yeah," Bellamy said, forgetting even his nervousness for a moment.  _Was it possible she knew as much about him as he did about her?_  
  
As they walked up the steps, she took his hand, and Bellamy hoped she would never let go.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're so inclined, feel free to talk to me at shamyesapsoorap.tumblr.com!
> 
> (I take prompts! Send me prompts! Do it!)


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